


Countervail

by oxiosa



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers, Latin Hetalia - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-04 06:48:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5324528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oxiosa/pseuds/oxiosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Luciano hadn't answered his calls, it was because he didn't want to talk to him. End of story. And Martín was more than determined not to be bother by that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Countervail

**Author's Note:**

> Disclamer; the characters used in this work belong to the community Latin Hetalia and their respective creators. More info about them in the following link > www.latin-hetalia.livejournal.com
> 
> Argentina: Martín Hernández.  
> Brazil: Luciano Da Silva.

Martín almost dropped himself on the floor when he finally opened the door of his apartment.

He shut the door behind him, and dragged his feet through the floor without bothering to turn the light on; through the window the soft light of the dawn illuminated the room, the last sun rays of day coming through the semi-opened window blinds.

As Martín made his way into his living room, he kicked off his shoes, undid his tie and upper bottoms of his shirt, and took his coat off, carelessly dropping his clothes on the floor.

He dropped himself on his couch face down, sinking on the old soft cushions. His stomach growled, reminding him just how hungry he was, but he ignored it. His body craved for a shower, tired muscles and sticky skin from the spring heat. Thinking about it made him cringe, but then again he was to exhausted to move.

He keep the position a couple of minutes, the weight of a long tiring day pushing him down onto the soft cushions. He groaned, and only turned his head to the side when he couldn't hold his breath any more.

He huffed and glared lazily to nothing in particular, a pout on his lips.

He wasn't in a good mood.

It took him a couple of minutes of stillness to gather the strength to get up and go to the kitchen for some food for his rumbling stomach. On his way, he absently turned his TV on - an habit he had grown used to, the muffled sound and bright images from the screen his only companion in his lonely apartment.

He opened the fridge and groaned to the old lonely plate of pasta that sat there.

He wasn't really in the mood to cook anything, but he was hungry, so he took the leftovers to the couch and ate watching the TV without actually paying much attention to the program he had channeled. He could always order something, but that would mean he would have to go down stairs to get the food, which translated to then having to climb back up to the 4th floor to his apartment, since the old building's elevator was out of service. So he set for the cold old food.

A sad meal to a tiring day.

When he finished dinner, he left the dirty dish on the floor, too lazy to even straighten up to leave it on the coffee table he was using as a footstool.

His eyes might had been glued to the screen, but the rest of his senses were on the cell phone lying innocently right next to him.

He ignored it for some minutes, until the urge to get the thing won over him. He checked his messages, and pursed his lips at the last message he had gotten from Luciano;

_CANT TALK RN :-( CALL U LATER!_

He had called him earlier today – he had called _twice_ \- and had had for an answer that dull message. He frowned at his phone, as offended as the first time he had read it, and dropped the gadget to his side.

So, Luciano didn't want to talk to him. Maybe it sounded a little overdramatic, but it was not like he was too busy working to answer Martín's calls. He always did, and Martín knew Luciano well enough to know that he avoided paperwork as much as Martín himself did. He always had time to sneak to the bathroom to get a smoke, walk around with the excuse off getting some coffee, talk with anyone who got through his way, anything to get away from work for a couple of minutes. They always had time to talk on the phone during work, to gossip about new employees, to complain about the food, to bicker about economy and politics, and to tell how they missed each other, and when to arrange a date, and to laugh and-

Martín frowned. No, he was not going there, not after today.

If Luciano hadn't answered his calls, it was because he didn't want to talk to him. End of story. And Martín was more than determined not to be bother by that.

So to prove a point, he turned his complete attention to the stupid action movie that was just getting started. He got bored of it almost half an hour later, and turned of the TV with a huff. He couldn't help to give his phone a quick glance before huffing and getting off the couch, marching into the bathroom. He took a long shower that helped him feel a little better; he still happened to be tired, but at least he wasn't hungry anymore and he was clean.

It was a slight improvement he could really appreciate.

It was then, a he made his way out of his bathroom drying his wet hair with a tower, that his phone finally started ringing. Martín stopped dead on his tracks, and stared at it. It was only after the second missed called, that Martín stomped to the couch, grabbed his phone, and picked up without even looking the name in the small bright screen.

"Yes?"

"I knew you'd get mad, I so so _so_ knew it..."

Martín frowned, and pursed his lips at Luciano's voice; he had the nerve to sound amused, the bastard.

"I'm not mad."

He was.

"Yes, you are."

He was indeed.

"I'm not."

"Totally are," Luciano replied back. "You're mad at me because I had oh the daring to have more important things to do than gossip with you. You're totally mad, and you're not even trying to hide it, Martín."

He was, and he was not.

"Fair enough," he relented. "I am mad, and I give two fucks about hiding it."

"Drama Queen," Martín could hear the smile on Luciano's lips. "Stop sulking, I called back just like I promised, didn't I? I just... wanted both of us to be home to talk, that's all."

That intrigued Martín.

"... alright... and why's that?"

"I... ah, sort of have something for you..." Luciano replied carefully.

That might had softened Martín's mood. Only slightly though.

"Do you now?" he asked suspiciously.

"You could say so," Luciano sing-sang.

Martín let out a sigh, a light hum to himself. A small smile started to curve his lips, but he reminded himself that he still hadn't forgiven Luciano just yet.

"Right," he said. "What did you get me?"

"I said I sort of got you something," Luciano reminded quickly.

"Did you or did you not got something for me?" Martín frowned. "You can't 'sort of' got me something, how does that even work?"

Luciano reminded silent on the other side of the line. Martín could clearly picture him scratching the back of his head, making a mess out of his already tousled hair, and pressing his lush lips together in a grimace.

"It... just does?" Luciano answered lamely. "You just go to your closet..."

"My closet?" Martín blinked surprised.

It had been weeks since the last time Luciano had spent the night in his apartment, so whatever it was he had got him and had hidden in Martín's closet, it must had been in there for days without him noticing. He wondered to himself how was that even possible, as he made his way to his bedroom.

He opened the closet's door wide open, and looked around with eager eyes.

"There's... nothing in here," he said, and yes, that was disappointment on his voice.

"I beg to differ," Luciano said matter-of-factly. "If I recall correctly, and we both know I do, your closet is stuffed with shit older than your Constitution."

Martín rolled his eyes.

"Well, yes, you know what I mean."

"No, I don't," now Luciano sounded puzzled. "What do you mean?"

Martín pouted, and was about to point out that there was nothing _new_ \- nothing like, say, a huge expensive gift - but changed his mind.

"Forget it," he sighed and shook his head. "So, closet, right. What now?"

"Now you get in there."

They both reminded silent for a second.

"What?" Martín blurted out.

"Is it really that hard to understand what I'm saying?" Luciano said, surely rolling his eyes miles away. "Get inside the closet."

"Why would I want to get inside a closet? You tell me why should-"

He heard Luciano sigh from the other side of the line. A very loud, very tired sigh.

"Martín... help me here," he pleaded impatiently. "Just shut the fuck up and do as I say."

Martín decided not to point out that that wasn't the nicest way to ask for something if he was really expecting the other part to cooperate.

"I don't fit in there," he complained stubbornly.

"You didn't even try."

"It's a closet, Luciano. It's meant for clothes, not people."

"That doesn't mean you won't fit," Luciano pointed. "Come on, just move some things around and make some space, you lazy fucker."

Martín sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Is this really necessary?"

"Yes," Luciano answered sternly. "Now move your ass."

Martín sighed again. He took a pile of old clothes and dropped them on his bed. He should really start throwing stuff away, Luciano was right; he had stuff from centuries ago gathering dust in there.

"This is not what I had in mind when you said you wanted to call when we were home," he grumped. "I thought you'd get me all worked up and breathless with others activities."  
Luciano remained silent, and then cleared his throat. Martín smiled amused at it.

"... we'll get to that part later," Luciano said carefully. "Now keep it up."

He closed the door, letting only a thin bright string of light come in. He hugged his legs closer to his chest and sulked like a small child.

"Are you done?" Luciano asked. "Are you in there yet?"

"Yes," Martín answered, pouting. "Now what?"

Luciano cleared his throat ceremoniously.

"That very spot _you_ 're sitting on," he announced. "Is the North-easternmost place in your apartment."

"Is what?"

" _The. North. Eastern. Most. Place. In. Your. Apartment._ " Luciano repeated slowly. "You know, Northest and Eastest at the same time."

Martín waited. Then he pursed his lips unimpressed.

"... ok,"

"And _I'm_ sitting in the South-westernmost point of my house. That's the Southest and Westest, for you."

"... am I supposed to be thrilled about this?"

"Yes, you are, so shut up," Luciano snapped at him. "Now, I know it will be a bit hard for you, but try to think. Who's _your_ favorite North-eastern neighbour?"

"Sebastián?"

Luciano didn't answer back. Martín could almost hear him frowning unamused at the phone.

"I was just messing around, where's your sense of humour?" he rolled his eyes as an amused smile spread across his lips. "Alright, fine. You are, babe, you're the sunshine in my life."

"That's better, thank you," Luciano ignored. "Now, who's _my_ favorite Southwestern neighbour?"

"I am, of course," Martín answered without the slightest hesitation, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "But what does all of that have to... ah. Oh."

They both went quiet for a couple of long seconds.

"... let me get this straight... if _I'm_ sitting in the Northeastmost spot in my house and _you_ 're sitting in the Southwestmost spot in your place, then..."

"... we're sitting on the closest spots in our places we can get one from each other, yes," Luciano finished for him. He sounded somewhat embarrassed and pleased at the same time, which was an odd combination. "I mean, without leaving our houses and running to our borders like some lunatics."

Martín remained silent, too stunned to speak.

"I know it's silly, and I know it's not the same as being actually together, I mean it's obviously not the same thing at all," Luciano rushed to blurt out. "But since this year we couldn't actually get together for the date... well, I thought this would somewhat close the distance between us..."

"Martín? Are you still there? Are you even listening to me?" Luciano demanded a little nervously. "Don't you dare laugh at me, or I swear I'll..."

"No, no! I'm sorry, I'm not laughing! I'm just..."

"Amused?"

"... speechless."

Luciano went silent.

"Are you now?"

That sounded a little too pleased for Martín's taste. He cleared his throat.

"... kind of," he said, and tried his best not to give away the silly smile that started to curve his lips. "Is this the best you can do? Not even a box of chocolates? A bouquet of flowers?"

"Impressive, I know," Luciano beamed.

"May I remind you I'm sitting in a small stuffed closet? My back is starting to get sore, and I think I've got a shoe up my ass. This isn't exactly a dreamy."

"And I'm sitting in my bathtub. I'm cold and uncomfortable and my ass is starting to hurt too, so suck it up," Luciano sighed.

"The shower's a nice place to be thinking of me," Martín pointed quietly.

He smiled at Luciano's loud laughter from the other side of the phone, feeling his face and belly warming with a pleasant fuzzy feeling.

"Yeah... right," Luciano granted.

They kept silent, but it was not an awkward silence. It was the kind of silence between two persons that had nothing else to say because there were no more words needed between them.

"Martín?" Luciano called softly, a quiet shy breath.

"Yes?"

"Happy Anniversary."

Martín smiled. A small guarded smirk.

"Yeah, you too," he whispered back. "Happy Anniversary, you corny asshole."

Luciano laughed again, bright and fresh.

Luciano was not there now, was not there always, but he was his, and that was more than Martín could wish for.

**Author's Note:**

> The Argentine-Brazilian Friendship Day is a commemoration held in Argentina and Brazil every 30th of November in remembrance of the signing of the Declaration of Iguazú in 1985, statement where both sides expressed the intentions of their governments to initiate a program of bilateral integration, thus changing the traditional view of conflict between Brazil and Argentina and leading to cooperation. Happy friendship day to all the Brazilian out there!


End file.
